


Cold Hearts and Barren Lands - Part Five

by ElderberryWine



Series: Far From Home [5]
Category: Lord of the Rings - Fandom
Genre: M/M, Part of the Far From Home series.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-02-27
Updated: 2010-02-27
Packaged: 2017-10-07 14:12:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,338
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/65916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElderberryWine/pseuds/ElderberryWine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ancient evil is stirred, and the road becomes perilous indeed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cold Hearts and Barren Lands - Part Five

Pippin poked his head cautiously up from under the coverings. It had taken a few moments, but then he had remembered where they were, and in whose bed they lay. The morning sun that filtered in through the window was diffused and grey, and he could hear the steady patter of raindrops of the thatched roof above. Meditatively, he snuggled back into the comfortable bed, Merry's hand still draped over him, heavy with sleep. He sincerely hoped that Frodo would not feel it necessary to leave in weather such as this. Tom Bombadil and his lady seemed quite hospitable, and the feel of a comfortable bed again was most pleasing.

Happily, he pushed closer into a sleeping Merry, wiggling just slightly, in case Merry was anywhere close to waking up. Unfortunately, Merry's calm breathing continued to be steady, so obviously he was still sleeping soundly. However, they were so nicely fit together, spoon fashion, that all it took was a slight push just, oh, there, and a slight stretch here, and Merry's instinctive reaction was obvious, even though Pippin knew he was still fast asleep.

Humming happily to himself, Pippin wrapped his arms around Merry's arms, which were firm around him, and nuzzled them lovingly. Gradually, however, his breathing began to match Merry's, and his eyes slid closed as he fell into slumber as well.

It was Merry, therefore, who eventually awoke him again, stirring against him, and then rolling onto his back and stretching himself lazily against Pippin. Pippin drowsily protested against the loss of that lovely warmth, but it was for naught as Merry sat up and looked around. Turning to Pippin in the grey light, with a slight smile on his face, he motioned quiet to his companion, and glanced pointedly at the other bed.

The upper half of the other couple was uncovered, the light blankets pooling about their waists, and Frodo's embrace of Sam, as they lay sleeping, was unmistakably protective. Sam lay, head down, upon Frodo's chest, with his face hidden against Frodo's shoulder, and both of Frodo's arms were wrapped tightly and defensively around him. Soundlessly, Merry crept out of bed, and dressed himself, throwing Pippin his clothes and indicating to him to do likewise. As he waited for Pippin, he gave the other two a meditative look, and then crept silently out of the room, motioning to Pippin to do the same.

Once out in the wood paneled hall, Pippin glanced at Merry inquiringly. "What was all that about?" he asked, give him a look of curiosity.

Merry shrugged, somewhat self-consciously. "I just thought they needed some time alone," he muttered. He frowned slightly at Pippin, but the expression in his eyes was, to some extent, distant. "Can you imagine how awful that must have been for Sam, to find himself all alone like that? And especially on top of having almost been washed away forever in the Brandywine a couple of days ago? He's certainly been having the hardest time of it, so far."

Pippin watched him fondly, a slow smile starting to wash across his face. "That's rather decent of you, Merry," he mentioned slowly. "You're quite right, of course. Though he'd never complain."

Merry gave him a wry returning smile. "I wouldn't be surprised if we don't each have occasion to feel like that before this trip is over." Dismissing the subject quickly, he threw an arm around Pippin's shoulders. "Well, then, Pip. Let's go see what this place does in the way of breakfast."

 

&amp;&amp;&amp;&amp;&amp;

 

The great hall that they had been in the previous night was empty this morning, as they entered, rather uncertainly. The flowers still filled the room with their scent, however, and the embers in the hearth were yet smoldering, keeping the spacious room warm. There was a doorway at the far end of the room, however, from which Goldberry had come the previous evening, bearing food, so it was for that which they made now.

Hesitantly, they peered within, standing shoulder to shoulder, and were greeted by Goldberry with a warm smile and a nod of her head. She was standing before a great table, nearly eye-level for them, with her hands in dough, punching and kneading it against the well-worn floured board. "Come to look for breakfast, my good hobbits?" she greeted them cheerfully.

"Aye, Mistress Bombadil," Merry answered for the both of them, nodding his head respectfully.

Her smile deepened at that greeting, and she gave a low chuckle. "Mistress Bombadil indeed," she replied, as if testing the words in her mouth. "Nay, my dear hobbits, that is never my name, rather Goldberry. But you are," and she paused for a moment, giving each of them a thoughtful glance, "clearly a Brandybuck and a Took. There was a time," she began, and then with a quick laugh, tossed her head as if the matter was of no consequence. "Ah, I do remember your names, never fear. Merry and Pippin, I believe?"

"Yes, my lady," Pippin answered, as they both gave a pleased bow.

"But you must call me Goldberry," she protested lightly, with a smile. "Since you are going to be assisting me with breakfast, we should be using our true names." And before either of them quite realized it, she had lifted each of them onto the table with such ease it was as if they had somehow floated up there. "Here," she continued, placing a deep blue-glazed bowl of strawberries before Pippin, "let us put those clever fingers of yours to use. The strawberries need to be hulled. And you, my Merry," she added, handing him a deep bowl with cream at the bottom, and a whisk. "I've a mind for cream with my berries this morning, so whisk with a good will."

Pippin gazed at the berries with some bewilderment. "Strawberries?" he asked with some confusion, glancing up at her then. "But it's nearly October. How can there be strawberries?"

Goldberry smiled, and shrugged slightly. "Well, it was strawberries I wished for this morning, and strawberries there are." Dusting her hands off on a cloth, she walked over to the window and glanced out at the steadily falling rain. "We don't pay much mind to the seasons here. There's rain when we want it, and sun when we don't, cold nights when they are needed, and long warm days when that is what we wish. That is all that is really necessary."

Merry had ceased his whisking and gazed at her with something close to awe. "Yesterday you called us mortals," he mentioned, almost unwillingly, hardly daring to. "Are you not?"

Goldberry had turned back to him, and her beautiful face held a look of both amusement and wistfulness. "I expect you might think us not," she said slowly. "But Middle Earth has not always existed, and will not last forever. We count the days differently than do you, I suppose." But then she gave a quick laugh and pointed to the bowl forgotten in Merry's hands.

"The cream will not whip itself, Merry," she pointed out playfully. "And I believe I am nearly as hungry for breakfast as the both of you."

 

&amp;&amp;&amp;&amp;&amp;

 

It was not until mid-morning that Frodo and Sam, rather sheepishly, joined the others in the kitchen, just in time for second breakfast. But Goldberry's smile was warm and welcoming, and Frodo was somewhat surprised that neither Pippin nor Merry made any comment. Pippin had been introducing Goldberry to the delights of tea, hot and fragrant, and, as Pippin sighed contentedly, just the thing for a drizzly sort of day like this one. He glanced over warily as Frodo entered the kitchen, but since his cousin showed no sign of being prepared to continue their travels, he relaxed again, and beamed a smile toward him over his steaming traveling mug. Indeed, Goldberry's cups had proven far too large from which to sip hot liquid, so Pippin had had to make a stealthy trip back to their bedroom for his and Merry's packs. Neither Frodo nor Sam seemed to have moved since he and Merry had left them.

Sam involuntarily raised an eyebrow at the sight of Pippin and Merry perched upon the high wooden kitchen table, but it did seem the most practical way to carry on a conversation with the mistress of the home, since there were no chairs or stools in the room. But no sooner had he wondered quite how the two younger hobbits had managed to get up there, than both he and Frodo found themselves elevated in the same manner the other two had previously been, and both sat, rather startled, feet dangling over the side, and stared at the sumptuous spread before them.

Both Merry and Pippin had to laugh at their surprised faces, and Goldberry joined in as well. "My pardon, good hobbits," she said merrily, "but I'm afraid this home was not built to suit you. I hope, however, that it is comfortable enough."

Of course, all four immediately assured her that indeed it was, and she replied, graciously, "Then I hope you would be persuaded to spend a day or two with us? The weather is not the best for traveling, and the road ahead will not be easy or comfortable. And we do get so few visitors."

But Frodo happened to catch her eye at her last comment, and it was the faint glimpse of sadness that he saw there that caused him, far more than all the practical reasons, to acquiesce. "We would be most honored," he bowed slightly, and the other three stifled the impulse to give hearty cheers of relief.

 

&amp;&amp;&amp;&amp;&amp;

 

Tom was not seen until early afternoon, when he opened the door to the great room, and hung his hat and cloak on the pegs near the door. With a shake, much like that of a dog, the raindrops flew off of him and he strode to the fire, curiously dry for someone who had been out all morning on such a drizzly, misty day.

Frodo and Sam were stretched out together on a wide cushioned bench, covered with a soft blanket, and had fallen into the most delicious post-luncheon doze, while Merry and Pippin, who had been seated cross-legged before the fire on sturdy pillows, hurriedly began to scramble to their feet. But Tom sank into a great comfortable chair before the fire, and motioned them down with a grin. "What is it that you are doing?" he asked then, staring in puzzlement at the bits of colored paper that lay scattered on the floor between the two hobbits.

"Nothing important, really," Merry answered, somewhat dismissively. "Only playing at cards."

"Cat-and-mouse," confided Pippin with a grin. "And I rather think I'm getting the better of him."

"Cards, now, is that what these would be?" Tom asked, glancing at them with interest. Goldberry, who had just entered the room bearing a steaming bowl of soup, which she lay upon the table beside Tom, gave a laugh.

"They have been at it a good deal of the morning," she informed him merrily as she headed back to the kitchen, "and it certainly seems to be a rather entertaining pastime."

Tom sipped his soup meditatively, and gave the two hobbits on the floor a nod. "Let's see what all this is about," he rumbled, as Goldberry returned with a plate of bread, grapes, and cheese, and Merry and Pippin gave each other a rather uncertain glance.

"Oh, well, we'd best start over, or it won't make any sense," Merry said quickly, rapidly whisking the cards up into a neat stack.

"I trust you'll remember that I was winning that hand," Pippin gave him a sharp glance.

"Oh, of course, Pip," Merry nodded dismissively, "but I was really only practicing. This time, we'll explain how it goes, and the next time we'll play in earnest."

So it was that Sam slowly awoke to the sound of most un-hobbity crow of triumph. Cautiously sitting up, so as not to awaken the still dozing Frodo, he discovered Tom sitting cross-legged on the floor between Frodo's cousins, slapping down cards that hardly could be seen in his great hand into the elaborate array on the wooden floor which lay between the three of them. Yet Tom was still hard put to keep up with the pace that Merry and Pippin were setting, as they whisked their cards about, laughing and merrily teasing both each other and him all the while.

Staring at this scene with not a small amount of bewilderment, he heard a soft chuckle nearby, and turned to see Goldberry, seated in the corner away from the fire and near where he and Frodo lay, bring out a fleece to prepare for the spinning wheel that was set up next to her. "Oh, allow me to help, my lady," he murmured, carefully pulling away from Frodo so as not to disturb him, and gently replacing the blanket around him. He then walked to Goldberry and added, "I could help w'the carding; I'd be helpin' my sisters any number o'times."

"Only," she gazed solemnly at him, her deft fingers halting for the moment, "if you call me Goldberry." She smiled at Sam, as he reddened slightly.

"It just don't seem right somehow, but I'll try, if it pleases you, Goldberry," he added, rather awkwardly.

"Now that sounds so much nicer," she smiled encouragingly at him, handing the wool and the carding comb over to Sam. She nodded to Tom and the other two hobbits, and quietly mentioned to Sam, "He has really taken to this pastime of yours. And to the four of you, as well, I might add. Something new doesn't come our way very often." Then turning to Sam with a knowing smile, and very nearly a wink, she murmured, "It was quite a fortunate thing that it chose to rain today, was it not?"

Taking up a fleece that had already been prepared, she started the wheel to spinning and began, at the same time, to sing a quiet melody to herself, just under her breath.

But Sam stopped short, and when she paused, asked her, "Was that an elvish tune, m'la… erm, Goldberry? It very nearly sounds like one, but not quite."

"Why, are you familiar with elvish song?" Goldberry turned to him in surprise. "I had no idea that hobbits had made a study of that."

"Sam has," came a quiet amused voice, and the both of them turned to see Frodo sitting up on the bench, with the blanket still wrapped around him. "He knows scores of them, as well as the hobbit sort, I might add." Then he added, with a twinkle in his eye at Sam's expression, "And sings them very nicely, truth be told."

"Well, then, Sam, your secret is out," Goldberry turned to him in delight. "I'll teach you this one if you teach me some I don't know."

"Only if I'd be havin' a bit of help," Sam gave Frodo a mock growl, which couldn't quite hide his delight at Frodo's complement.

Frodo gave him a grin. "You know my mind goes blank whenever I try to think of one, Sam, but you start one up, and I'll join right in."

It was nearly evening before Sam had gone through his entire repertoire, even with the occasional prompt from Pippin, immersed as he still was in his card game. "That one you sang at the Green Dragon the last time we were there, Sam," came his voice from across the room, and Sam turned rather red.

" 'Tis but a silly song," he muttered, while both Goldberry and Frodo laughed.

"Silly or no, I wish to learn them all, my good hobbit," she assured him, and thus encouraged, Sam launched into the song of the farmer's lass and the thistle bush, with Frodo's clear voice merrily joining in the chorus.

 

&amp;&amp;&amp;&amp;&amp;

 

As the hobbits left the hall that night, Sam unobtrusively drew Merry aside as the other two went on ahead. " 'Tis the last comfortable evening we may be havin' for awhile," he muttered, in a serious tone to Merry, studying him carefully. "So, would it be the bath room or the bedroom that the both o'ye be wantin'?"

Merry regarded him with a wry smile, but also with unexpressed appreciation for Sam's foresight. "Pip loves the water," he murmured.

"Right then," Sam nodded. "Just don't be in any hurry, mind you."

 

&amp;&amp;&amp;&amp;&amp;

 

Once back in the bedroom, Frodo found himself being slowly and painstaking undressed by Sam before he quite realized what was happening. "But, Sam," he protested weakly, as Sam's hand slid slowly up his back, under his loosened shirt, "The others, they could be back any moment."

"No worries, me dear," Sam's voice was soft but husky, as he pulled Frodo toward him, momentarily catching Frodo's hands up against his chest. "Merry and I had a few quick words. We'll not be plannin' to take a bath tonight, and we won't be seein' them in here any time soon."

"Ah, Sam," Frodo sighed happily, not only in appreciation of Sam's astute thinking, but also of the way, as he leaned forward, that Sam's tongue managed to be caressing that little hollow just right behind his ear, and however did he do that? "You do manage everything so well, don't you."

"All I'd want to be managin' right now would be you, me dearie," was Sam's somewhat distracted response, as he set to work on Frodo's buttons, with a certain dexterity gained through years of conscientious practice.

"You can manage me like this any time you wish, Sam dearest," murmured Frodo, the shirt having at last been set free to hang from his shoulders, and Sam's mouth having unerringly found that spot at the base of his throat that caused his toes to curl, each and every time.

"Glad I'd be t'be hearin' that," he thought he heard Sam mutter, before Sam's hands slowly made their way down his chest, precisely finding those certain nubs which, when given a rough but at the same time curiously gentle stroking, caused his breath to catch and his head to fall back, eyes closing, and desire gripping him once again.

There were no more words that came to him now, only a moan of expectation; sure in the knowledge that Sam's practiced hands would soon find the part of him that yearned impatiently for his touch. But Sam did not wish to be hurried tonight, and slowly drew Frodo's shirt from his shoulders, letting it fall heedlessly to the floor, and tasting Frodo's throat again and again, his neck, his shoulders, his chest, and his hands hot upon Frodo as well.

Eager for Sam's mouth to descend, Frodo tried to take matters into his own hands, unfastening his trousers, but Sam was having none of that. "Tonight, me dear, you'd be doing what your Sam wants," he heard Sam's firm reply, and looking up and deep into those familiar beautiful gold green eyes, Frodo smiled as shyly as if it were the very first time.

"I am yours tonight, Sam," he whispered. "Whatever you wish, beloved." And that sweet smile, that was Sam's alone, lit up his face, and Sam's mouth was suddenly upon his, taking and insistent. Frodo threw both of his arms up, encircling Sam, and leaned into the kiss, only dimly aware of the enticing feel of Sam's body against his as his thoughts were swept away by Sam's passion. Ardently, Sam's tongue found his and caressed it, and Frodo met him greedily, while unconsciously letting one hand run through Sam's curls, and the other stroke his back and hold him close.

He heard Sam give a soft groan then, a mixture of satisfaction and yet a want for more, as Sam's strong hands made their way unerringly down his bare back and under his loosened trousers, gripping him with a fierce desire. Breaking away from Sam's mouth, he slowly let his head fall back and, his eyes closed, gave a soft laugh. How often he had been held like this, both protected and inflamed by Sam's sturdy body and hungry mouth, he could not remember, but even though so many years had passed since the first time, he still felt himself fall in love with Sam all over again and the rest of the world fade away. There was nothing else that could possibly matter besides this dear love of his; the feel of him, the taste of him, the sound of his own name being sighed longingly, and those glorious warm eyes, looking so deeply and without guard into his own.

"Sam, oh, Sam," he sighed, and he could restrain himself no longer from the need to touch that warm skin, that hot hard flesh. This time, however, Sam did not resist as Frodo reached between them, rapidly undoing Sam's clothing, and letting it drop to the floor along with his own trousers. And now Sam had covered his body with his own, pushing him against the side of the high bed, and oh, the feeling of that arousing sweet friction, and Sam's hand, skillful and cunning against the both of them.

But Sam pulled away quickly enough, with a gasp, and determinedly hoisted himself up onto the bed, despite Frodo's moan of protest. "We've a proper bed, me dear," he heard Sam chuckle huskily, "and I mean to be usin' it." However, Frodo was of no mind to dispute this, and with an effort, clambered up on the bed as well, only in time to be pinned down by both of Sam's knees on either side of his torso, a willing and greedy victim of Sam's advances, as Sam found his mouth again. Frodo's hand, nonetheless, instinctively found, and did not wish to be parted from, the glorious feel of Sam until with another groan, Sam's mouth broke away from Frodo's, and he started to kiss his way down Frodo's throat and chest. Frodo could not be still then, and though he had to reluctantly let go of Sam, he pushed himself up against him, gasping, impatient in the knowledge of where Sam was heading.

And then with a choked cry, Frodo felt Sam's mouth close around him, and it was only with the greatest of restraint, and years of practice, that he could keep himself from thrusting wildly into Sam's mouth. Instead, he let himself be swept away, let Sam establish the pace, the slow painstaking strokes of the tongue down the side of him, the delicate yet wantonly arousing teasing of the teeth, the wonderful wet warmth slick around him, and he gripped the bedclothes to either side of him as tightly as he could, determined not to let it be over too soon. But Sam, too, could only exercise his own control but for so long until he unconsciously began to increase the rhythm, come down harder, his own movements against Frodo more fervent and wanting.

Then, with a sudden gasp, Sam's mouth left Frodo, and Sam was up and in his arms, as Frodo wrapped both his arms and legs desperately around him, thrusting mindlessly up with a wail, and Sam, breathing harshly, pushed down again and again, until they met together in love, shuddering with the release of their desire, the wet warmth trapped tightly between them.

"Oh, Sam, my dearest Sam," Sam heard Frodo murmur tenderly, as he raised himself slightly off of Frodo and lifted a noticeably shaky hand to brush the dark sweaty curls from Frodo's forehead. Frodo's eyes were dark in the guttering candlelight as he raised a hand up and gently cradled Sam's face. "Always yours, my beloved. Always and forever yours."

It was a night that Sam remembered for the rest of his life. It was the last time that he ever held Frodo in his arms, happy and whole.

 

&amp;&amp;&amp;&amp;&amp;

 

The next morning, the rain had ceased, and the hobbits prepared, somewhat reluctantly, to take their leave. Merry and Pippin had gifted Tom with one of their packs of cards, and Tom did not try to hide his delight. "I must knock a few more holes in that Hedge," he rumbled, "and try to lure a few more hobbits this way. I must say I did not remember that your folk were quite so entertaining."

Goldberry smiled as well, but her voice was serious when she added, "Come this way again, my dearest friends, when your journeys are over. You will always be warmly welcomed here." They bowed low, and each, in turn, kissed her hand farewell. She gave them one last smile, and turned to leave, but not before Sam saw a tear slide down her cheek.

Tom drew them aside though, at that point, and his mood was suddenly serious. "The lands between here and the East Road have become wild," he looked at them carefully. "I am lending you one of my ponies to carry your packs, for the sooner you reach the Road, the safer you will be. Call upon me, if you need aid, but you must know that my domain no longer extends very far. You need to make straight north, and do not, under any circumstance, allow yourselves to become separated. And," he added slowly, looking directly at Frodo, "remember my words. Do not put the Ring on, not for any reason. The harm it would do you would be irreversible. Hobbits were never meant to wield weapons such as that, for weapon it surely is."

With determination in his eye, though, Frodo met his gaze. "I do not mean to use It, ever," he stated firmly. "My task is but to take It to Rivendell, and from there, others must decide Its fate. I thank you for your hospitality, and that of your lady, and would gladly return, whenever I can."

Tom nodded brusquely, and the four hobbits set off once more, down the grassy hill. Sam, however, kept an eye open as he followed the others, leading the pony, and was sure that, from time to time, there was a rustle in the bushes to the side of the path, and he had an occasional reassuring glimpse of a tawny stripe and a bushy tail.

 

&amp;&amp;&amp;&amp;&amp;

 

The woods had thinned, as they walked to the north, and the terrain became a series of rounded green hills, covered with lush grass, and occasional scrubby bushes. The sun was up and the sky was a clear blue, and it was easy enough to tell in which direction they were to head. They traveled silently, lost in their own thoughts, with Frodo accompanying Sam and the pony, and Merry and Pippin walking in front.

The hills were just high enough that there was no clear vision of the land ahead, and every time they reached the top of one, there were only more of the same to be seen in every direction.

"Oi!" Pippin finally sighed, as they climbed one more. "How long do you think it will take us, Frodo, to reach the Road? Did Tom mention anything to you?"

"No," Frodo shook his head, coming to a halt behind Pippin. "I would expect it to take us another day, at least. Besides," he gave his cousin a wry glance, "I rather doubt if Tom would have had any idea as to the walking pace of a hobbit."

Merry, following Frodo up the hill, glanced ruefully down at his legs. "What I wouldn't give," he muttered regretfully, "for a pair of legs the length of Tom's. Then I'd be able to get somewhere, and no doubt about that."

Pippin chuckled at Merry's complaint, and then sighed to no one in particular, as if fully realizing this fact for the first time, "We really are small, you know. We hobbits, I mean. Just seems as though the world outside the Shire'd be too big for us."

Frodo laughed and gave him a warm hug. "I think I have a better appreciation of how Gandalf feels when he's at Bag End," he smiled at Sam, who was now catching up to the other three, leading the patient pony toward a patch of particularly nice grass. "I mean, it's the opposite actually, but the sense of not fitting in somehow, whether it would be by being too small or too large."

Merry raised his arms in a quick stretch, and then nodded decisively. "Well, I mean to appreciate the Shire properly, as soon as we get back. And now, I would definitely appreciate a bit of lunch."

The others found no fault with that proposal, and they were soon spread comfortably about on a blanket, savoring grapes and the rest of Goldberry's bread. The sun felt wonderfully warm on their faces, and it was quite awhile before they reluctantly packed up their things and set forth again.

As they walked on though, the landscape seemed to be changing somewhat. The rolling green hills still continued on, seemingly without end, but from time to time they encountered great stone slabs, whitened and weathered, set up on end in odd circular patterns. "What do you suppose these'd be about?" Sam asked Frodo, as they passed yet another circle of stones.

"They seem to be a sort of gathering spot, or perhaps a marker," Frodo frowned, eying them curiously. "Whatever the meaning, they certainly are ancient. I expect those who made them are long since gone."

Pippin gave an involuntary shudder, and eyed the stone with distaste. "I suppose they are only rocks, but I don't like them, somehow. I hope we don't have to spend the night near them."

Merry shrugged at Pippin's words, and replied, "I'm feeling a little more comfortable towards stone than trees, at this point. As long as they don't topple over on us, I think we'll be safe enough."

"I'm feeling more worried about the weather than the stones," Frodo looked past them with a bit of concern. "There seems to be mist coming from somewhere; most likely there's a river about that we have not yet seen. I'm just hoping that it will remain clear enough to travel, for it will be very difficult to keep our direction true without the sun to guide us."

"It's a low mist," Sam pointed out, looking in the same direction as Frodo. "Like enough, 'tis river fog. But since we have plenty of water, no need t'be looking' for it."

"Right," Merry nodded. "Let's see how far we can get, then, before we lose the light altogether."

 

&amp;&amp;&amp;&amp;&amp;

 

They lost the light quickly, and gained a chill night in the bargain. The mist, from whatever source, had been steadily increasing all afternoon, and by the time the light had failed, was thick and white all about them. They decided to make camp near a hollow in the hills, not near any of the stones, for in truth, none of the other three liked them any more than Pippin. Merry had, fortuitously, found some dead wood among the bushes, as they had walked that afternoon, so there was firewood to be had, at least for awhile.

Sam had pegged Tom's pony down, with the rope that he had remembered to bring along. Frodo and Merry had started the fire, as Pippin had rummaged through their packs, finding some provisions that could be put together to make a hot meal, and at least, he sighed thankfully, their supplies of tea were still ample. Their evening meal was rather silent though, as they huddled together for warmth, and none could help but compare it to the comfort and companionship they had known the previous evening.

But, as Pippin remarked hopefully, who could have foreseen that? And perhaps the next night would be just as pleasant; there really was no way of knowing.

Cheered by that thought, Sam rose to check on the pony, before they settled in to sleep, but before he had been gone but a moment, Frodo heard his voice give a cry of dismay. "The pony's gone off and left," came Sam's voice clearly back to them. "That'll never do, I'll just be havin' a look around. I won't be but a moment."

But Frodo suddenly remembered Tom's words and called out with apprehension, "No, Sam, come back! We can look for him tomorrow, he won't go far."

There was no answer from Sam, though, and Frodo suddenly felt his heart gripped with fear. "Sam? Sam!" he called out wildly, but there was no answer, and the white mist seemed to thicken, as their meager supply of firewood began to burn out.

Merry and Pippin had been sitting near the fire, their eyes wide and worry clear in their expressions, but at the lack of a response, Pippin quickly stood up. "I'll go look, he can't have gone far," he said tersely, and Merry quickly rose to join him, lacing his fingers through Pippin's.

"We'll be right back," he murmured, before Frodo could protest.

"No, don't go!" he cried out. "Tom told us not to become separated!" But it was too late. He was alone in the flickering ring of firelight, and the fog was thick and stifling all around him. "Sam!" he called out frantically. "Sam! Merry! Pippin!" There was nothing but silence.

Thinking quickly, he grabbed one of the pieces of firewood by the unburned end and held it up, like a torch. Setting off from the fire, he struck off in the direction he thought his companions had gone in.

Time became a waking nightmare for Frodo as he wandered heedlessly through the hills, calling until he was hoarse. At times, he thought he heard their voices but when he tried to go in their direction, their voices faded away, and he was alone again. And all the while, the mist was so thick he could scarcely see his own feet. In desperation, he watched as the stick he held burned ever lower, and he realized that he had lost all sense of direction, and had no idea where their campsite had been.

It wasn't until the wood had nearly burnt through that he saw he was in one of the mysterious circles of stone, and that there was an opening before him, the opening of a cave into the side of one of the endless hills. Drawn to the cave, for reasons that he knew not, the wood in his hand burned away into a final cinder just as he stepped inside, and then he realized that he no longer needed it.

For there was a light coming from within the cave. Not a cheerful, wholesome light, but rather a greenish, noisome light, like that from something dead and rotted. Terrified, he nevertheless stepped forward, and then saw a sight that took his breath away in horror.

His friends lay there before him, senseless. But they were not as he had last seen them, but rather clad in armor, such as warriors of old had worn. Their hands were crossed over their chests, and each of them clasped a sword, long and of a type never meant for a hobbit, against his breast. All about them were piles of treasure, gold and jewels, swords and helmets, all gleaming pale in the sickly light.

He rushed forward then, not even looking to see who else might be in the cave, caring only to release his companions from the trance that they seemed to be in. But as he knelt at Sam's side, he reached out to touch his face, and then recoiled in horror. It was cold, icy cold, but also hard as stone. Sam, as well as the other two, lay there as an effigy from days long gone, a monument to a departed warrior, and there was no indication at all that he had been, only a few hours before, a warm living being.

Desperately, Frodo jumped to his feet and looked about, and it was only then that he noticed that the white fog had made its way into the cave as well. But it was no longer formless mist that he saw, and his heart raced with dread, as it seemed to take the shape of long wispy hands and then, looming upwards, started to form into the horrible shape of some sort of being, as it slowly reached out toward him.

It was then that Frodo's assailed senses could stand no more, and he backed blindly out of the cave, turning and running sightlessly into the dark. Without even remembering why, he found himself shrieking out Tom's name, in wild despair. But as he ran, his foot hit one of the stones that had been just beyond the cave, and he fell heavily to the ground, his face striking a stone that was partially buried in the ground as he fell. Ignoring the pain, he tried to draw himself back to his feet, glancing behind him in a panic as he did so. But the sight he saw caused him to freeze, utterly terror-stricken, for the mist had by now taken the shape of a tall wraith-like figure, clothed in the same greenish light that he had seen in the cave. There was a silver crown on his head, and a sword in his hand, and he stretched his arm out to Frodo in a silent beckoning. Resisting desperately, Frodo cried out Tom's name again, as he lay on the ground, but his senses were beginning to leave him, his sight was darkening, and he had very nearly given up to despair, when he heard Tom's voice.

 

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Frodo twisted around, as he lay upon the ground, to see Tom Bombadil's figure, tall and broad, stride up out of the dark and stand between him and the ghastly spectre. But whereas the spirit from the cave had shone with an evil light, such as did not belong to any living thing, Tom was seemingly lit in gold, and the mist about him began to shrink away. "Back into the ground, you foul thing," his commanding deep voice rang out, and the shape that had followed Frodo from the cave appeared to waver, and become indistinct. "These beings are not your concern. You have no power over them. Begone, and await your king in the darkness, where you must remain."

And even as Frodo watched in amazement, the mist thinned, and then utterly faded away, and he realized that he was looking about himself in the golden light of a new day's dawn.

"Tom!" he rose shakily to his feet, feeling a sense of relief nearly overwhelm him. But then the memory of Sam came to his mind as well as Merry and Pippin, and he cried out, beseechingly, "The others, Tom, can you help them?"

Tom turned back to him, the sternness in his face softening slightly, as he held out a hand to assist Frodo up. "Let us see," he said softly, and with Frodo following, entered the cave.

The green light was gone, but there was enough daylight now to see the other three hobbits, in their normal traveling attire, lying upon the floor of the cave. There were dead damp leaves strewn upon them, and piles of small stones at their feet, but none of the weapons and treasure that Frodo had previously seen. With an cry of astonishment, he flung himself down again beside Sam. This time though, Sam's face was damp and clammy, but living flesh one more, and when Frodo cradled it in his hands, Sam's eyes slowly blinked open. He turned his face toward Frodo, gazing at him in bewilderment.

"Here, now," Sam's voice was distressed, as he stared up at Frodo. With a gentle hand he reached up to wipe away the tears that were freely flowing down Frodo's face. "What'd be the matter, me dearie?" But then, he caught sight of Tom, behind Frodo, and struggling up to a sitting position, looked about him in confusion. "Why'd we be lyin' here, midst these heaps of leaves and such, and what'd Tom be here for, now?"

Frodo gulped back tears, still speechless, but was numbly thankful to see Merry and Pippin stirring as well. Calmly, Tom bent down next to Merry and lay a large but careful hand across his forehead, smiling as Merry's eyes fluttered open. He did the same for Pippin, and with his help, the four hobbits were soon out of the cave, and standing, somewhat shakily, near the stones.

"Let us be away from here," Tom spoke gruffly, "and then you may ask me your questions." There was no disagreement whatsoever as to that proposal, and in very little time, the four hobbits were seated thankfully on the grassy hill, feeling themselves warming in the morning sun. Tom sank down on his haunches nearby, watching them meditatively.

"Whatever possessed us to sleep in that musty damp old cave?" Pippin finally asked in bewilderment. "And not that it's not good to see you again, Tom, but however did you find us?" Clearly having no memory of the previous night's event, he stood up and glared in annoyance at his clothing. "Oi! I feel as though I've been sleeping in the bottom of a bog!"

Merry stood up as well, with a grimace. "You certainly have a point, Pip. I feel the same. Whose idea, last night, was that cave anyway? I really don't remember that conversation at all."

"Did we really decide that?" Sam asked slowly, glancing at Frodo first, who did not say a word, his face closed off, and then up to Tom. "Or did it just seem that way?"

"You were called there, by the barrow wights," Tom said briefly, his expression darkening. "Not that you would remember it, of course." He looked over at Merry and Pippin, his face softening with the hint of a smile. "Those clothes would dry out a bit faster if you were not in them, young hobbits."

"Excellent point," Merry gave him a decisive nod, and began to strip them hurriedly off. With a quick grin, Pippin immediately began to follow suit.

Tom gave a rumbling laugh at their haste. "You're safe enough now," he nodded benevolently. "There's nothing to harm you here in the daylight. Just don't stray off too far; all these hills look much like the other."

"We'll be back, in just a bit," Merry flashed a grin to Frodo, and the pair of them were quickly out of sight.

"You might want to be drying off, too," Tom turned to Sam, but Sam shook his head uncomfortably.

"They'll be drying out on me, likewise," he mumbled, but Frodo finally stirred at his words, and reached for him with a slight smile.

"They won't dry comfortably, though," he murmured, beginning to undo Sam's shirt buttons. "Here, Sam, take them off. I'll lend you my cloak if you like." Sam gave no further argument then, and was shortly seated next to Frodo, wrapped in Frodo's cloak, and his arm as well.

Frodo then turned his attention back to Tom, who had been watching the both of them thoughtfully, and finally asked, "You called them barrow wights. What are they?"

Tom looked off for a few moments before responding. "Living men, once," he finally said softly. "Lesser kings, great warriors, and some were but simple farmers. Some of them were decent folk, some not. But it didn't matter much in the end. They were all betrayed by the greed of their king, and now they wait. They guard their hoards, deep in the barrows, and wait for the day when they all will be granted living form again, or something near to it."

"But what did they have to do with us? We are but hobbits, we cannot grant them anything such as that," Frodo asked fearfully.

"No, you cannot," Tom turned back to look at the two of them, his brow furrowed. "They usually suffer strangers such as yourselves to pass unharmed. So perhaps it is not who you are that has attracted them, but rather why you are here."

Frodo gave a sudden gasp at that thought, and clutched at his pocket, but the familiar box was still there.

"I can no longer help you," Tom continued gravely, "but it is clear to me, Frodo Baggins, that at all pains, you must keep your companions about you, if you are to succeed. This is twice, now, that there would have been but one of you, alone, with the Ring, were it not for my assistance. Never forget that that which you carry has a will of Its own, and not all that befalls you is by chance. It has no desire to be left here, and that is why, both times, there was one of you left to carry It from these lands."

"I would not have left Frodo," Sam breathed, giving Tom an almost defiant look. "Not never," and he gulped suddenly at the memory, as Frodo's arm tightened around him.

"And that is your greatest defense," nodded Tom, with the ghost of a smile. "It can only affect your senses, at times, and perhaps lead you into danger. But It cannot affect your heart. Of that, It knows nothing. Trust to your hearts, my dear hobbits, for there is where your strength truly lies."

Quickly he rose up, and gave a piercing whistle. A whinny was nearly immediately heard, and the pony that had been lent to them trotted up as if it had merely gone on a morning stroll.

"Oh, our pardons," exclaimed Sam, jumping to his feet and very nearly letting the cloak fall off of him in his dismay. "I did let that pony go last night, I must never have tied the rope up right."

"Don't you worry about that, Sam" Tom chuckled, giving the pony's nose a light pat with his large hand. "This fellow knows exactly where he is, and nothing in these hills would bother him. They all know he'd belong to Tom Bombadil." The pony gave a whinny, as if in agreement, and tossed his head up, his dark mane flying out in the morning sun.

"I'll be off then," Tom nodded his head briefly as they tried, once again, to thank him, and added, "Mind you, remember old Tom's words. And just give this pony a swat when you reach the Road. He'll find his way home, never you fear." With a last doff of his hat, he turned and strode back to the south, his long legs taking him out of view in no time at all.

Frodo and Sam glanced at each other somberly. "Don't you be losing sight of me again, Sam," Frodo reached a hand up and clasped Sam's shoulder tightly.

"I won't be doin' that, no ways," Sam murmured tenderly, and then brought his hand up to the scrape on Frodo's cheek, left from when he had fallen on the stone, and clucked softly to himself.

But Frodo covered his hand with his own and looked into his eyes. "I wouldn't have left you either, Sam, love," he whispered. "Not even if there had been no one to save us, even if there was nothing I could have done. I would not have left you in the end."

 

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A short time later, Merry and Pippin were lying in the grass, Merry on his back, and Pippin stretched out on top in a most comfortable sort of way. "Do you suppose we should be getting back, then?" Pippin eventually asked, not interrupting the process, however, of rather successfully nuzzling Merry's neck.

"Oi, Pip!" Merry laughed, squiggling slightly under him. "Keep that up, and it will be at least another ten minutes before we'll be able to leave."

"Ten minutes?" Pippin raised himself up and gazed down at him with wide-eyed innocence. "That long? Really, Merry, you are slowing down."

"You rascal of a Took!" Merry employed his usual technique of swiftly attacking Pippin's most ticklish zones, and was, in no time, sitting up with a giggling Pippin squirming in his lap, a quite satisfactory state of affairs, he couldn't help thinking. But with admirable restraint, he shook his head, and reminded Pippin firmly, "We've been gone long enough. We can't be giving them one more thing to be worrying about."

Pippin sobered up abruptly at that thought, and rose to his feet, brushing the grass off of all the odd places where somehow it seemed to have gotten attached. "We haven't have been of much use so far, have we?" he asked softly, watching Merry do the same.

Merry shook his head and gave him a wry smile. "Apparently, we've been attacked by a willow tree, and dragged into a cave by some sort of spirits. It might make more sense to me if I could remember any of it, but I can't."

Pippin shook his head. "It's all rather a blank to me too, I'm afraid. But it does seem as if we haven't been of much use, thus far. I'm beginning to feel like excess baggage, somehow."

"Our time will come, Pip, I'm sure of it," Merry clasped a warm arm around him and gave him a resounding kiss on his cheek. "We'll just let Frodo and Sam have all the glory now, but you know as well as I do why Tom came back to save us. It was that pack of cards we gave him that really did the trick, you know."

Pippin laughed and squeezed him firmly. "Of course, you're right, Merry. Why would he ever bother about us otherwise," he teased him playfully, and, in cheerful spirits once more, they made their way back to the other two.

 

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The rest of the morning was uneventful, and by mid-afternoon, they had reached the great East Road. With a bit of regret, Sam sent the pony on its way, and the four travelers stared down the tree-lined, broad deserted highway.


End file.
